Ace of Spades
by MsDreamcatcher123
Summary: A LITTLE SOMETHING FOR A FRIEND BETWEEN OUR OC CHARACTERS. Smut. Lots of smut. XD I will add just some additional non-smut chapters in case I'm stemming a different idea. ;p
1. Strip Tease

**I really don't even- words- holy gawd. I stayed up sooo late writing this. **

**For le SirenGallows on MCL. **

**Message box is too small. . XD**

**WARNING: VERY SAUCY. VERY, VERY SAUCY.**

* * *

"Francisco Dragoni, where in the living HELL are you taking me?!" I said irritatingly, my wrist being grasped by the tall crimson-haired guy as he walked in fast, wide strides. I have another friend who would exactly this, too, who is named Cattivo, but right now, he is at god only knows where.

"Shh! Wait. I'm showing you." His smooth voice replied. I raised a brow, and then almost tripped.

We walked fast, he kept pulling at me each time I lost my momentum and when I slowed down. "Jeez Fran, ease up. What you have to show me won't grow legs and run away."

"It has legs." He said, smirking, pulling me towards a corner and straight to the new Strip Club through the parking lot.

"OH MY GOD, WHAT THE HELL?!" I shouted, trying to rip my wrist free of Fran's grasp at the sight of the XXX signs around the door. He didn't let go and continued to pull me into the hazey doorway.

"I paid Cattivo two hundred dollars to pull this off." Fran explained, flashing his I.D. and my I.D. to the security guard. The guard nodded and let us through. I dropped my jaw in mad surprise.

It smelled like fish and salt, and even a bit humid. Gross, because it all mixed with the smell of sex and strong alcohol. It was foggy, filled with girls in leather lingerie that covered their breasts and their nether regions just barely. One of them even had no clothes at all. I shut my eyes and just followed Fran hopelessly while he found a booth. "Oh god, one of the girls didn't have a anything on. Gross. As. Hell." I complained.

Fran plopped me down into a booth. I took a seat and hid my face in my arms on the table, totally feeling my dignity downgrade so low. Francisco just sat leisurely, watching the stage with amused eyes. I looked up at him like he just shit a cow. "What are you so excited about? Don't tell me you had Cat assault one of the girls here, cause that's illegal."

He barked a bit of laughter before he shut himself up. "No, no, nothing like that. Far from it actually." He smirked deviously at me. "Tonight is Girls Night, and he is going to show his respects." His red eyes traveled from me up to the stage. "Speak of the devil..."

I cautiously turned my head and looked at the stage with multiple poles on it and flashing lights. Unexpectedly, loud and techno music with a sensual beat exploded through the speakers. I widened my eyes as shirtless, muscular men with bronzed bodies strutted out onto the stage. I dropped my jaw. Fran started to laugh. Girls in the crowd down below screamed and whooped roll-calls at the gorgeous men.

Two lines from both ends of the stage formed into one line. Suddenly, with complete confidence, shirtless, and incredibly hot Cattivo strutted out with a platinum glint in his pure silver eyes. The other men surrounded the Italian like he was the star of the show.

Techincally, he was.

"Oh... my... god..." I was about to slam my head on the table, ready to kill myself and end it now. I can't believe Cattivo is actually doing this. "The club at school is going to kill us if they find out we're here..." I groaned.

"Hey! Watch it, Artie. I didn't pay Cat two hundred dollars for nothing." Fran said.

After the performance, Cattivo decided to grind on one of the poles, swing around it, and whip his silver hair. He tossed his hat to the crowd of screaming women. He smiled, like he was actually enjoying this. He teased the crowd by winking and flashing dazzling grins and grinding on a pole several times. I groaned again. He even bit his lip, sending girls into shrieks. He was baring is muscular upper body and black cargo pants with chains in total confidence that I have never seen him in before. I groaned even louder.

"Is that the sound of pleasure?" Fran asked, looking at me with surprised eyes and amusement striking his face across the table.

"No..." I said. Then I realized I said it way too nervously. I blushed, suddenly flustered. Fran scoffed and sipped at a drink like he was unimpressed.

After Cat's flaunting performance, he ran backstage, and then came running back out with the other bronze men, waving and bowing, and then diving into the crowd.

"DJ Stee-Ray here." The black accented DJ boomed into the microphone above the stage in his private veiwing area. "Welcome to Ladies Night at Water Fest, I hope you enjoyed the fantastic performance These glorious men, who just performed for you all, will go into the crowd, and each will pick one lucky lady to have a one-hour session alone in our VIP booths backstage. Happy hour, if you know what I mean." The black DJ spoke over the room, his voice suddenly deep at the last sentence and chuckling. My gut clenched. "They're goin' around now, so try to get their attention, ladies!"

_Oh god..._

I looked into the crowd, watching a certain silverette get bombarded with sweaty, profuse women deep into the sea of girls. Cat smiled, grinning like he was in heaven. He kept walking past all of them, his eyes searching the crowd. I watched. He looked. He looked at me. I locked eyes. By accident. [i]Oh shit.[/i]

He picked up his speed, sprinting through the crowd. My eyes got wider at every stride he took toward my direction. I scooched over towards Fran more and more until I was almost pushing him off the edge of the U shaped bench. "Artie, chill out." Fran said, pushing me back to where I was.

"Well well well, look who actually came." I looked up and seen conformed, shirtless Cattivo, standing at the end of the table. His tightly muscled arms were crossed over each other, a smirk playing on his face.

"Calm down Cat, you got your money for the dare," Fran voiced, almost irritated.

Cattivo shrugged nonchalantly at him. "I'm having fun. Let's wait until the happy hour is over, 'kay?" He winked at Fran with a click of his tongue and then turned to me again. He grinned, holding out a hand toward me. "May I?"

I blushed an actually blush. If there was one thing I didn't do, it was blush at shirtless guys before going into empty rooms. Instead of waiting for my response, he grabbed my hand off of the table and dragged me toward the stage. "Cat!" I heard Fran shout coldly. I dropped my jaw as I had no choice but to follow Cat through the crowd again and up the stairs of the stage, where the other men collected their preferred women and stood with them in a line. I widened my eyes as Cat and I lined with them. I blushed. Hard.

"Say farewell to these lucky ladies for _one whole hour_," The black DJ spoke, his voice sounding like liquid. Several hands raised up and waved like maniacs and screamed goodbye. I widened my eyes at the dark crowd. I couldn't believe what the hell was happening.

Then suddenly, Cat lifted me up into his arms, making me wrap my arms and legs in alarm around him while he chuckled and nuzzled my neck. I gripped his back and his shoulders as he ran down stairs, back stage with me in his arms, and into one of the dressing rooms. I was fearing for my life at this point.

"Cattivo, who is that?!" A man yelled, rubbing a black girl's leg while she groaned in pleasure on one of the makeup mirrors that you see in burlesque movies. Cat stopped for a second to reply, making me grip his toned back in fear of falling off and humiliating myself. I froze in place around his upper body. I couldn't even think, let alone talk.

"A good friend of mine." He responded with a devious grin, then went back to running. I squeaked in surprised. He chuckled even more and held me tighter to his muscular chest.

Bursting into a warm, clean area with better air, which I assumed was the VIP room, he closed to door behind us, literally slamming it. He turned the lock and then pushed me up against the wall beside it, not waiting another moment at all. I still had my eyes wide open, the gap between Cattivo and I not opening up at all. My legs and arms were still wrapped around Cat tightly, holding on for dear life.

Cat secured his hands on my hips and waist. He placed his forehead onto mine with no second thought, staring deep into my eyes with his grey orbs, breathing heavily. "You get flustered so easily," Cat whispered huskily, then he flash an accomplished smile. "You have no idea how fucking long I've been waiting for a moment like this, Artie."

I searched his eyes. I've never seen this side of Cat before in my entire life. I panted a bit, too, feeling the palms of my hands become sore, my muscles become jelly, and my feet lose all feeling underneath my workboots. His breath beat against my skin. I was about to yell at him and tell him to get me out of here, but he started nuzzling my neck again. I squeaked in surprise. He put me under more ecstasy then I should have felt. Ever.

"God, you're so fucking inexperienced." He whispered against my neck. "You're supposed to _moan_, Artie."

My eyes suddenly became glassy, foggy and dizzy, almost like I was put under a spell. My eyes rolled to the back of my head when he continued to nuzzle my quickly-found sweet spot. No matter how hard I tried not to, I moaned, so easily persuaded. What is this? Why am I falling for this? I shouldn't even be here!

"That's it." He groaned against my skin, suddenly placing kisses before he started sucking my sweet spot. I gripped his shoulders, moaning even more, my arms and fingers becoming numb with unexpected pleasure.

I rolled my head back on the carpeted wall, feeling my stomach tightening up sickeningly, hearing our moans melt into the fabric. He gripped me roughly, which for some reason, I liked.

"Why are you-" I whispered weakly, running my fingers through his silver hair.

"'Cause I can," He cut me off, talking against my skin, stopping his sucking. He spindled his hands around the hem of my heavy sweater, moving his mouth up towards my jawline. I gasped again. Cat smirked and started on my mouth. He kissed me with a passion I've never felt in my entire life. I wrapped my arms around his neck as he profusely bombarded my lips smoothly. I tried to give effort back, but like he said, I was inexperienced. He took me off the wall, also taking a breather from the kiss. When he ripped my sweater off of me, he revealed the dark blue tank top on that was tight like second skin. He placed me onto the memory-foam mattress, running his fingers up my waist and hips again, making me arch my back and moan loudly. He smirked and whispered a "fuck yeah" before continuing his torment.

He crawled on top of me and he straddled his knees around my hips, securing me down. He then held onto my face with his large hands. He used one hand to comb my bangs out of my face, but then after that, he kissed me. Hard. I moaned again, loving every second of this, even though I shouldn't.

**O_O'**

**MY BRAIN IS MESSED FOR THE RP NOW. **


	2. Lightly Taken

"To dream about a talking horse refers to higher knowledge. Consider the significance of what the horse is saying." I went on, taking out a book on philosophy next to Fran at the library. Today was our day off from club time, since we were one of the busiest people of the entire committee. "'To dream the horse is black signifies a chance of their message coming from your subconscious.'" I flipped through the pages diligently, skimming a few words about wiseness and double-meanings. "To dream the horse is blue signifies sadness and a message from that emotion.'" I slapped the book closed, knowing the book wouldn't get me anywhere. "'You or someone is looking for help, but don't know how to go about getting it.' That is the significance of Electus being in my mind. I've read and repeated these words over a thousand times when I was younger. Thirteen, I think, ever since I started seeing Electus in my dreams."

Fran opened up another book from the shelf. Showing no interest after flipping through a couple pages, he shut it and placed it back into the shelf, listening to me speak among the silence of the library. Lately, we've been getting requests left and right of artistic people wanting to join the Cultural Arts Club, some of them even bombarding us in the halls with questions and demands of membership. It's been harder and harder as the Secretary to get this fairly passed onto the President, Fran, and it's been hard for him to deny them and tell them to go away, yet still keep a calm composure going about it. Cattivo decided he would investigate a new mission ahead of us. Somewhere in the boondocks of the main city, apparently. He said he wanted us to take a break from work and go somewhere quiet... for once. "You sure as hell ain't gettin it here," Cattivo had said. "Go to the library or some shit, I think you'll pop a glock in some kids head if you stay here any longer."

"What have you been dreaming about lately that makes you need to look in the philosophy section?" Fran spoke quietly, taking out another book and dusting off the cover. "You're usually either in the fairy tale isle or on one of the study tables giving yourself Carpal Tunnel Syndrome."

"I would rather do either of those then to sit in this damn section," I said quietly with annoyance tinging my voice, running my index finger over a row of black spines with bulking philosophy titles on it. "Electus has been telling me something that I haven't heard her say before. Plus, in my dreams I've been sinking in water, rather than sitting on regular floor. Somethings up and I want to check it out."

Fran tapped the book with his hands. I've seen him do that too many times in the last few years to know what it mean't. If it made a sound, like it was hollow, it mean't the book was empty, empty of anything he had any interest in. If it didn't make a sound, other then the sound of skin against fabric, it was deemed interesting. It made no sound. "Already found a book to read?" I questioned, stopping my index finger on a red spine and pulling it out with ease.

He smirked. "You know me too well."

"That's kinda scary, actually," I muttered, opening up the book to the table of contents. "That means I need to get out more."

"By that, you mean more alcohol," Fran stated, bending the thick cover of the book back and forth.

The lights of the library were dim. Some were busted up, some were burnt out, and some of them were dying with age. It smelled of moldy, musty book odor rather then sanitary disinfectant. The sound of people scattered throughout the large building shuffling and opening books up echoed off the opal walls clearly. The feeling of clarity filled my senses, keeping me calm and driving away my built-up stress. I bet it felt the same way for Fran. He seemed to really like it here just as much as I did. Scratch that, he always does.

The first time we met was here, at the town library. That was, of course, right after the party-crashing with Cattivo, the first time I met him. I was at one of the study tables at three in the morning, hungover and getting over a drunken headache, healing up after a scrap with a cheerleader. I was stemming a story idea at the time, and I was determined to put it down on paper. It would be seven chapters long, each worth at least five thousand words. I didn't know what it would be called, or what it would mean, but it would be about a certain girl, going to sleep on a peaceful Christmas Eve. She would be fourteen years of age.

She'd wake up the next morning, and an apocalypse would befall around her. Her parents we're zombies, ready to attack, but she killed them with her fathers shotgun in defense. That was the point I had gotten to at four in the morning, one hour after I showed up to the library, when Fran made his appearance. "That's a nice story you have there." He had said, taking a seat next to me. His flaming tattoo's were at his collarbone at the time. Before they stretched up his neck. Before they licked his jaw. Before the Cultural Arts Club entirely. "Mind if I have a look?"

"What's it to you?" I snapped, which I had covered the thick notebook with my bruised up arms. I was very private and closed off back then, coming fresh off a reservation and put out on my own. He talked to me as if I was a child. I was kind of used to it, then, actually. Fifteen, and unreformed to today's society.

"Just interested." He had said nonchalantly, not taking my attitude in offense. He sat back in his chair and looked at my eyes for a second. He then looked at my bruised arms. He looked back up at my eyes. "How about a trade. I'll show you a cool trick, and in return, you'll let me read your story there."

"It isn't finished yet," I had said, my voice sounding small.

"It's alright. Then you'll have to show me that story when you ARE finished," He explained, a warm smile playing his face. He looked so much older then me at the time, even though we're the same age. He lifted a pale hand, offered me a shake. Offered me a deal. And I shook it.

He had taken an inkwell pen out of his pocket. He pricked his finger with it. He inhaled through his teeth. Suddenly, his tattoo flared, like there was a bright fire burning underneath it. I looked back at his fingers and he had a piece of paper underneath the inkwell pen, which was filled with dark red liquid. He sighed. "Tell me if you can read it. Read it aloud, I mean."

I had nodded. He started writing. Amazingly, the bloody ink turned into flashy, burgundy letters in neat cursive writing. It spelled, "Will you be my friend?" I read them aloud slowly. And then I was greeted with Francisco's smiling face.

"I will be your friend, because you are just like me."

I slapped the book closed, the loudness of it bringing me out of my memories and my mood to reminisce. I stuffed the hard cover back into the shelf.

"What did she say that has you on edge?" Fran asked calmly, analyzing his book with critical eyes.

"It's a bit fuzzy, but I just want to find the meaning behind it," I hesitantly said. "Lets go to the computers. I just remembered a website where I can find the meanings."

Fran rolled his head up from the book to face me with an 'are you fucking kidding me' expression written across his features. I immediately knew he was a bit cranky because we were torn from our job and doesn't like wasting time. "We've just spent half an hour here and NOW you remember?!"

"Knock it off, Fran," I said passively, walking past him and towards the old computers. He followed, deliberately, except his nose went back into the book. "We're here to relax. I just happened to have some research to look up on."

I sat a computer, typing up the website I was talking about. DREAMMOODS. It was an awesome website to go back to every now and then when something odd was going on in my dreams. I typed in "Water" and up came the article. Meanwhile, Fran took a seat next to me, taking a spin in the office chair, his eyes not leaving the book while his chair spun to a stop. I read it aloud to him. "'To see calm, clear water in your dream means that you are in tune with your spirituality. It denotes serenity, peace of mind, and rejuvenation.' That's all it says. It doesn't say anything about sinking in water."

Fran looked up from his book for a second. "That's great about the spirituality part. But, what about what she said to you? It probably has something to do with that."

I clicked off the window and sat back in my chair, letting my arms hang at my sides. I sighed. "She said, 'You are sinking in your Blue Emotions into a different dimension. Your Green Emotions are fine, but your Red needs attention.' It's a messed up riddle that I need to figure out." I shrugged tightly.

Fran started to calculate. "I know that Green means intelligent emotions, like your sardonic attitude and whatnot, in a psychic sense, at least."

I gave him a stank eye at the comment before I started talking. "Blue means stuff that relate to sadness, monotones, and confusion. I guess I'm sinking into the wrong color right now."

"What do you think Red means?" He asked, rolling his chair somewhat close to mine, making me look into this bright red eyes. Those deep, red eyes that looked like you stared right into a red sunset, simply filled with good signs. 'Red at night, sailors delight.' They say. 'Red in the morning, sailors warning.' That basically explained Francisco. He IS red.

Red... red... THERE is red. I'm looking at red right now. Then, something totally unexpected and completely old ignited in my mind. It was an old fire in me from a long time ago that decided to light up in my core, making me get butterflies. I looked at Fran differently now that those old emotions resurfaced like bubbles from the pit of my stomach.

"Anger... passion..." I then blushed crimson, slapping my face, trying to cover up my evidence of what I was about to say, "... and Love."

Fran looked at me, almost as if he pitied me, the soft expression gracing his features, one of the many he doesn't express nowadays. It made my stomach drop. "Artie, I-"

"What?" I asked, my voice muffled against my hands, trying to cover up my blush.

He rolled the chair closer slowly, the sound of plastic scraping against old carpet reaching my ears abruptly. I almost rolled away to keep the distance between us, but he reached up and wrapped his hands around my thin wrists, silently asking for me to show my face. I resisted stubbornly, keeping my hands frozen in place. He pulled onto my wrists lightly, somehow moving the rest of me and my chair closer to him. I could smell his cologne suddenly. I bit my lip, trying to force down the blood rushing to my face.

"Artie, look at me," his voice asked softly. Gently. Sweetly. I blushed even more.

Deliberately, I lowered my hands, and revealing the crimson glow that burned my face. He gazed at me, searching my eyes again, and looking at my biting lip, and at my red cheeks. I could tell he was surprised. I could tell he was set back. Taken aback, almost. "I..." He spoke, not sure of what to say. "I don't know how to say this, but-"

"... but what?" I asked, hopeful that I could stop whatever he had to say if I interrupted him. Although, I did ask a question. And I know Francisco always answers questions.

He blinked several times, then he found the words. "Thank you for reminding me."

"... of what?" I asked, my voice sounding small.

"Of what red means to you," He said slowly, his hands winding up my wrist to my hands, starting to intertwine with mine. "... and of what you mean to me."

Closing the gap between us, he kissed me suddenly. He made it into a kiss that was long and soft. He was gentle, gracing my dry lips like they would break if he was too rough. My brown eyes popped wide open in surprise, feeling my first kiss ever. On the rez, if you've ever had your first kiss before sixteen, you were considered either a bad ass or a slut, thanks to society. I'm seventeen now, so I'm somewhat glad those society rules don't apply to me anymore. I could feel his smooth lips underneath my own. Butterflies were fluttering erratically around in my stomach. It felt fresh. He felt fresh. Watching his eyes close, and feeling arms wrap me into a warm hug, I started to close mine, too.

I seen Electus. Sitting cross-legged in the water, Electus began to walk around my sitting form again. I heard to clip-clop-splash once again. Electus tossed her head around, like she was finally happy with me. "Good job, Artemisa. You did it! You figured it out!" Her bouncy, happy voice rung in the empty prism that is my mind. I smiled at her, her coat turning a beautiful black once again, with a white blaze returning to her horse face, something I haven't seen in a long while.

Fran stopped to catch it breath, returning me to reality. I started to feel... happy. He placed his pale forehead onto my tanned one. "You seem happy, Artie," He stated, breathing heavily a bit before playing a grin on his face.

I looked at him silently, looking from one eye to the other, but my lips twitched into a small smile anyways. "Maybe I am."

"Indeed you are," He said, confirming it. He grinned at me before he decided to get up out of his chair, leaving the book from the philosophy section behind and instead, lifting me up, pulling me up to his lips again. He just couldn't stop smiling.

I realized I couldn't stop smiling, either. I melted when he tickled my nose with his, looking at me like I was so posh, even though I'm just short compared to him. "Um, excuse me," an elder lady voice from behind a computer, sporting a library security badge, said. "If you're going to show a public display of affection, take it outside. Some of us are here to work."

Fran and I looked at her in surprise. She looked at us, twitching her glasses toward the door. Fran looked back at me, a playful smirk gracing his face once again. "Cat shouldn't be back yet for an additional hour. How about some dinner at Jack Lee's, Artemisa?" He asked invitingly, seeming so nonchalantly formal about asking me on a date. He held onto my hands still.

I nodded, a smile still pulling at my lips persistently. "Sounds delightful, Francisco," I agreed happily.

He smiled brightly in response before turning around, holding onto the my hand still, walking towards the door. I followed him, a light feeling entering my stomach.


	3. Intense Trouble

**This isn't smut, but I don't care. It's sad.**

The squeak of the sharpie maker gliding across the slippery paper echoed all around my room. It greeted my ears like a sharp knife stabbing through living flesh. In thick lines was, "|||". Three. 3. Three days and counting of depression. Three days of survivors guilt. Three days since Francisco's funeral service.

We carried his ebony coffin up the hill, the sky tainted grey in thick sorrow. I had just finished crying, clutching onto Cattivo, who had also survived the crash. We were allowed to leave the hospital early just for Fran's funeral, because we were asked by Fran's mom to carry his coffin to his grave.

The Cultural Arts club was following in a long line behind us. They wore black, girls wearing black veils to hide their face, and guys wearing thickly rimmed hats to shadow their eyes. "It hides the windows to your soul," Fran would tell them with a smile across his face. "You don't need to wear it here. We're one in the same."

Cat gripped the paper of the speech I helped him write. It crinkled and rustled as Cat tried to restrain from crying. "You better not cry, Cattivo," I mumbled at him, my voice cracking at the simple syllables.

I could hear Cat grind his teeth in attempt to stop himself from crying.

Next thing, dirt cascaded down onto the coffin. Cattivo's strained words were being heard over the silence of everyone there. Rain suddenly pelted the leaves of the tree above us. Not one drop of it landed on any of the black coated people. It seemed like Francisco was protecting us from the rain during our time of mourning.

I can still hear Cat's stifled cry in the middle of his speech. It still rung in my ears.

Temporarily, Mari took over the club for us. For Cattivo and I. Even though she is blind and misses Fran a lot, she doesn't let it stop her from continuing the Cultural Arts Club. For Fran. It's what he would have wanted. It was the least she could do.

Meanwhile, Cat and I remained in our dorms, staying in the darkness of the school while everyone went on without us. Like nothing was wrong. Like nothing was our fault.

I was diagnosed with Survivors Guilt. Cattivo became diagnosed with Bipolar Aggression. I started to not talk. At all. Cat almost killed himself and was almost sent to jail for trying to kill someone by throwing a vending machine at an innocent bystander. He isn't allowed into society. There was no point in me going out into society if I won't talk or respond.

Fran is probably looking down on us sadly, watching us implode and fall apart without him. I miss having a number one fan around to always read my stories. Cat misses having a smoking buddy and misses Fran reigning him in when he would lose his temper.

I've been silent these last few days. Cat has been violent these last few days.

I put on a Megadeth t-shirt, along with baggy cargo pants and workbooks. Cat said he needed to go out. He needed some air. So we were headed to a park. I was his driver since he wasn't allowed to drive in case he ever wanted to run over a pedestrian.

It was silent. Cat dressed a usual outfit, except half-assed it since Fran wasn't around to judge his clothing choices.

I switched the blinker to the right and eased the car to the parking lot.

I put it in park, tore the key out of the ignition and slid back into my seat, expecting Cat to climb out and walk down the wide bike trail in front of the car. Instead, he sat there, as if he expect me to get out, instead. If I said anything, it would either trigger his tears or trigger his aggression. Either one I was not willing to cope with. Either one he was not wanting to burden me with.

I could tell he was glad I was quiet. I know he hates when people don't answer him. I know it annoys him when people are silent and don't talk. He's one of those people who needs noise. Feeds off of noise. Wants noise.

I can't give him noise. Not in this state.

"It's all my fault." Cattivo mumbled sadly, his voice sounding rusty and raspy, like it wasn't used for years. "I... I shouldn't have gotten drunk that night."

I wanted to say no. I wanted to tell you it was mine for going out to Samantha's party in the first place. It was my fault for bringing you out. You and Fran. Then when the emergency of a ruptured spirit showed up on Fran's internal radar, a skill he gained through me, we left in a scrambled rush. You drove. I sat in the front seat. Fran sat in the backseat. The road seemed to warp into an odd angle right in front of our intoxicated eyes. Fran tried to guide us the right way since he was the sober one, but no. We seemed to glide off the road, diving nose first down a steep hill, landing into bush. We were flying, and everything was quiet. Everything stopped. And before we knew it, Fran stuck himself in between the drivers seat and the passenger seat, throwing each of his arms in front of us, in hopes of protecting us from the blow. He died. We survived. He died for us. We live to pay the price. In the end, the wreckage was a thick, car-splitting tree that divided the car into two. Straight down the middle. From the hood... to the bumper.

"Why aren't you talking, Artie? You used to always talk. That's all you did." Cat went on solemnly, leaning against the car door

I wanted to snap and ask why he was so angry. He used be so calm.

We both stopped drinking. Cat stopped smoking, which was why he was so angry all the time. Drinking usually ebbed away at our emotions, making us numb. Now, drinking fills us with guilt, reminding us entirely of the car accident like a bullet to the head. I had almost gotten into smoking, but I could never do that. I could never do something that only Cat and Fran did. I could never replace Fran for Cat. Nor can Cat replace him for me.

"It's all your fault, isn't it? That's why you're not talking."

A tight, shocked feeling flowed through me. I wasn't talking because I never did before Fran happened. I never will even after Fran. That's why I don't talk now. Fran wouldn't have been surprised, although he would try his hardest to get me to talk. Again.

My thoughts wandered, debating on going home and going to sweat lodges with my mother to try to heal in the least bit. All that it did here was bring back memories. Hachiko reminds me too much of Francisco. I need to leave.

Cat suddenly burst through my car door, slamming it behind him, making me jump in surprise. It was just a flinch, but it was still surprising.

I watched Cat with dark eyes, who moved to an iron park bench, rip it off the ground with his bare hands, and throw it into the bush. He walked down the middle of the biking trailer slowly, not reaching fifty feet away from the car when he bowed his head, rubbed his eyes, and let his shoulders shake as he started to cry again.

I opened the car door and slid out quietly. I approached him slowly, being cautious in case he wanted to hurt me in any way. He was fixated on it being my fault, and he is very unpredictable in this state of mind when it comes to the subject of Fran. I heard his voice sniffle and grit his teeth to hold back more tears. It broke my heart to see him in this state. It broke me. I stay because of him. I can't leave, or else Cat would be destroyed. He's the reason why I stay instead of going off and getting healed.

Cat looked at me, silver eyes stinging and his lashes watering. He almost smiled at my actions, but suddenly became a frustrated growl instead. "THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!" He shouted, glaring at my silent form. "EVERYTHING! It's all yours, you stupid bitch!"

I almost cried, but I didn't respond. Instead, I lifted my now extremely pale hand onto my just-as-pale arm, hopefully being able to comfort myself against him, to keep my strength together.

"Fran died because of your fucking mistake!" He shouted, his hands begging to choke me. "You fucking whore, I bet you loved him, too, and yet you didn't do anything about it. You selfish bitch."

Where in the right mind did Fran find a way to die and leave us here? Is this a sign from him that we should go on our own... for once? It's not working, if that's what he had planned. I rubbed my arm again, staying silent, my vocal cords not inviting a single word. Cattivo continued to lash harsh words at me, which I've never felt before in my life. Which I have never felt in the years I've knew him for. His anger seemed to reside and take over the Cattivo I know. I didn't even look at him anymore, I just stared at a stone on the ground, bracing for something to come flying at me. Some dangerous projectile. A cigarette butt. A slap across the face.

His words already made me feel like I was hit with that iron bench he threw into the trees... just multiplied by five.

"Oh my god..." I heard him say in disbelief, hearing him run his hands through his hair in shock. "What in the hell am I doing?!"

I was suddenly enveloped in cool, pale arms. He smelled of cold sweat and stress. He was shaking from fear. Then I realized. He wasn't angry, he was-

"Thank you for not leaving my side, Artie," He whispered, holding me close like a little sister, his head craned onto the top of mine, his thumb straying across my cheek softly. "I... I just don't want to lose you, either."

"Me, neither," I said, my voice sounding puny.


End file.
